


Untitled

by Vesper_Whispers



Category: Glee
Genre: Batman!Blaine, Catwoman!Kurt, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, gkm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24554386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vesper_Whispers/pseuds/Vesper_Whispers
Summary: GKM Prompt: I'd like this to be in the Batman universe. Blaine is Batman, but the DARK version where he is amoral and only follows his own sense of justice. Kurt is a cat burglar who steals expensive jewels and loves fancy clothes.Batman!Blaine catches Catwoman!Kurt in action, but since Kurt didn't kill anyone, Blaine just ties Kurt up and "punishes" Kurt. Details are up to the filler but I'd like ropes with knots and spanking. Blaine making Kurt come over and over again until he begs Blaine to stop and promises to never steal again. Both Kurt and Blaine kept their masks on the whole time. It can be dub-con or non-con but I want Blaine and Kurt to both enjoy it at the end.BONUS:Batman's alter-ego, Blaine Anderson, billionaire, is so struck by Kurt's beauty that he asks Kurt out. (Up to filler what Kurt's day job is.) But he notices Kurt limping and the bruises and becomes very possessive and jealous.
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Glee Kink Meme fill, posted as Anon on LJ - may continue to be WIP since the prompt is technically fulfilled... we'll see....

**CHAPTER ONE**

"Sir, it's time." Alfred's calm voice echoed in the hallowed cave. 

But the figure hunched over at the computing station wasn't paying any attention. Glued to the keyboard and the flashing screens, Blaine kept typing away, brows furrowed in deep concentration.

"Sir," Alfred tried again, raising his voice this time over the click-clack of the keyboard.

"Ugh, what?" Blaine seemed genuinely surprised to see his faithful butler emerging from the total darkness surrounding him, with a silver platter on his hand. 

"Sir, the Gala at the Metropolitan Museum has already begun," Alfred courteously presented a small gold-embroidered card to his young master. "Ms. Cohen-Chang has already called twice wondering when you will be picking her up for the event."

"Ms. Cohen-Chang?" Slightly annoyed by the distraction, Blaine turned back toward the research he was doing. "Can't this wait? I am about to have a breakthrough."

But Alfred was firm. "Sir, you have been working in the cave for five days straight. Although I can tolerate your blatant disregard for personal hygiene, I must insist that you attend tonight's event, even if purely for appearance's sake."

Hands froze in mid-air, Blaine was puzzled by Alfred's tone. 

"Am I missing something here?" Blaine gave Alfred a concerned look. "Have I stood Ms. Cohen-Chang up so many times even you are advocating on her behalf?"

"Though it pains me to say I happen to know exactly how many times you have stood up your many lady-friends, sir, you are still in amicable terms with Ms. Cohen-Chang," Alfred responded. 

"Well then, what is it?" Blaine was visibly fighting the urge to go back to his computers. 

"Sir, your mother's treasured emerald is to be the centerpiece of tonight unveiling at the museum. It was a gift that your father gave her when they received word of her pregnancy, of you. The collection will begin public display tomorrow and be shown to the world," Alfred stopped to take a breath, the slightest sign of emotion flashed behind the calm eyes. "It would mean the world to this old man if you would stop by to represent the Anderson name."

Blaine was silent. Then without a word, he stood up and headed toward the secret passageway leading to his chamber.

Before the metallic passage door closed behind him, he turned around and smiled at his faithful servant. 

"Whatever will I do without you, Old Friend?"

"With all due respect, sir," Alfred replied. "Sometimes I wonder."

* * *

Blaine flexed his neck muscles as he finally was able to find much desired quiet solitude in the service hallways behind the museum ballroom. He softly chuckled in self mockery. As Batman, he is able to rough and tumble through the under-streets of Gotham for days without a shuteye, but a couple of hours in a black-tie gala and he's ready to throw in the towel.

As he moved down the cramped hallway, Blaine quickly shed his goofy and inebriated face. His muscles were visibly relaxed, his movements fluid rather than blundering. He has successfully checked off all his Blaine Anderson, Billionaire Playboy to-do's this evening. He arrived with Ms. Tina Cohen-Chang, famous actress and singer, in his arms. Then Blaine proceeded to flirt and harass every single lady in the gala, stumbled around like a drunk fool, and threatened to buy the entire museum when the bartender refused to served him anymore drinks. Those looks of disdain and pity were not lost to Blaine when he staggered away from those shallow sights. 

As Blaine moved swiftly down the hallway, he couldn't help but study the stark contrast of the dirty, debris-filled service hall with the ornate, golden and opulent ballroom of the museum, just mere steps away. Blaine knew these service hallways connect everything to anything in the museum, the secret underside of the building where staff can get around unobserved and unseen by the so-called patrons. The faceless backside to every fancy and beautiful event attended by the even more faceless elite.

Just as Blaine was going to exit the hallway and ready for his round two of the evening on the museum stage, his attention was drawn to the noise behind the door down the corridor. Someone was obviously trying to push through the hallway door, held in place by a simple hand knob. 

Instinctively, Blaine reached out and turned the knob.

"Argh!!"

A shriek quickly followed as a person fell through the door, unprepared for the sudden lack of resistance. A flurry of papers, containers, pens, and random items was unceremoniously tossed through the air.

Blaine was still registering the need to display his persona when he realized that the person was barely paying any attention to him. 

Instead, the young man was patting the floor around him, muttering, "Oh no, my glasses.. my glasses.."

"Ugh, here you go," Blaine easily found the black-rimmed glasses in the pile of white papers, and handed to the man.

That was the first time Blaine met those gorgeous eyes. 

The deepest of emerald green nearly took Blaine's breath away. And just as he sucked in a breath and composed himself, he suddenly realized that the orbs have shifted to blue in a blink of an eye. 

"Oh gosh, thank you so much," The young may quickly grabbed the glasses from Blaine's stilled hands and replaced them on his face, tucking the soul-stealing sights away behind thick classes. But it was too late for Blaine. Even if it was just for a brief moment, he felt enchanted and lost in them. 

Nevertheless, the young man regained his footing, unaware of Blaine's stammer that was rapidly blossoming into an embarrassing blush.

"Ugh, here, let me help you," The least Blaine could do was hide his sudden-found boyish nervousness by helping the young man pick up his items.

After finally picking up every item and tucking the last piece of paper beneath the young man's chin, atop of a huge pile in his arms, Blaine dusted his hands. "I think that is all."

"Looks about right to me," The young man smiled, and the few ounces of composure Blaine was able to amass was again utterly shattered. 

"My name is Kurt Hummel," The man said in a voice that seemed to dance about all the noise coming through the walls. "I would shake your hand, but as you can see, they are quite occupied at the moment."

Seemingly unaffected by how stunned Blaine was, Kurt began sashaying down the hallway to wherever he was headed. Blaine could hear himself gulp as he unsuccessfully tried to peel his eyes away from what seemed like the most perfect form: slender back, round buttocks, and those long, long legs. 

Just as Blaine's mind uncooperatively wandered to the thought of those legs wrapped around him in a tight embrace, their pause in movement forced Blaine to regain eye-contact with the creature before him.

"Guess you are not a talkative chap," Kurt looked Blaine up and down, eyeing his expensive looking tuxedo. "You best get back to the Gala, the unveiling ceremony is about to begin."

Blaine could do nothing but nod.

"Thanks again for your help," Kurt smiled. "I guess I'll see you around."

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for your patronage for this momentous event. It would not have happened without your contributions..."

"Blah, blah, blah..." Blaine didn't even try to hide his mockery as he made it back just in time for the Master of Ceremony to begin his speech on the opening of the exhibit. Still a bit dazed from the previous encounter, Blaine was nevertheless able to put his jovial mask back on and began round-two of his clown act.

"Oh, there you are," a delicate hand laid on his arm. Tina's sweet and sympathetic eyes fluttered in attempt to quiet Blaine down so he wouldn't make a bigger fool of himself. 

If only I may oblige, Blaine secretly sighed, and rudely grabbed the nearest server and demanded an explanation for why his drinks felt watered down. 

Nearby, the guests began to distance themselves from him and poor, embarrassed-looking Tina, while the speech givers were forced to raise their voices on top of Blaine's complaints.

But just as Blaine was about to escalate his scene-making to the next level, a sudden flash of an angelic face got his attention. Kurt Hummel, he reminded himself. The young man who will no doubt haunt his dreams for days to come was now standing next to the present speech-giver, next to the podium.

"Do you know that person?" Blaine leaned toward Tina, hoping she would have been paying attention to the ceremonies.

Slightly flustered by the sudden attention, Tina eagerly offered what she knew.

"That's Dr. Miller, one of the curators at the Met. He was responsible for putting together tonight's exhibit."

"Dr. Miller?" Blaine asked curiously, and realized that she mistakenly thought he was asking about the presenter.

"And the person next to him," Blaine couldn't help but trace his vision through each detail on Kurt's body, from the new, form-fitting suit that he obviously dawned on after their encounter, to the graceful dimple next to his pink lips. "Do you know who that is?"

Tina shook her head. "I haven't met him before. I guess perhaps an assistant of some kind?"

By then, Dr. Miller had finished his speech, and turned to shake hands with the various people on the stage. When he got to Kurt, he affectionately embraced the young man, and gave Kurt's cheek a peck with his lips.

"Blaine!" Even Tina's cries could not draw Blaine out of his rage. He had a sudden desire to go up there and punch Dr. Miller in the thorax and then finish the lecherous old man with a brutal upper-cut. 

"Blaine, you are bleeding!" 

Blaine looked down, and realized that he had unknowingly crushed the champagne flute in his hand, and the glass was now cutting into his flesh. 

"It's nothing," Blaine handed the broken shards of glass to a shaken server, and pulled out the small pieces of glass that were still embedded within his palm. Honestly, he gets more cuts than this on a good night patrolling Gotham City.

But Tina would have none of it. Despite Blaine's protests, she dragged him to the corner of the room and insisted that the museum call medics on the scene to treat the wounds. 

All the fawning and attention by Tina, very apologetic museum representatives, as well as the on-site nurses seemed distant to Blaine as he kept his attention focused on a single individual meandering through the various exhibits on the floor. It was as if there was but a single ray of light in the entire room, and everything else was darkened because of it.

Blaine watched as Kurt moved from showcase to showcase, discussing the display pieces with the patrons, explaining the significance and beauty of the objects on display. Every little movement, from the graceful way he held his wine glass, to the little taps he made with his toes as he moved through the crowd, as well as the way he nervously tucked his hair behind his ear when he thought no one was looking, all seemed extremely endearing, and Blaine felt he could never get enough.

Finally, after taking what felt like eons, the medical staff finished bandaging up Blaine's hand. With no time to waste, Blaine left a stunned Tina and took a bee-line to the exhibit that Kurt just happened to be heading toward.

"A beautiful piece, isn't it," Kurt walked up to a pre-positioned Blaine in front of the exhibition showcase. "How long did it belong in your family?"

It was only then that Blaine realized that he was standing before the green emerald that Alfred spoke of, the reason why he was here today. 

"It was a present from my father to my mother," Blaine studied the flawless stone before him, its presence reminding him of long forgotten memories in his childhood. "But it has been in the Anderson family for generations before that, acquired by my great grand-father, I believe."

"It is very generous of you to share it with the museum," Kurt's soft voice was like a drug to Blaine. "It it were mine, I'd hide it and let no one else see it."

Blaine's heart skipped a beat as the very thought certainly crossed his mind, but it wasn't the emerald stone in his possession, but a certain emerald-eyed individual.

"Wait," Blaine blinked at another revelation. "You know who I am?"

"Of course," The twinkle in Kurt's eyes drew out a clumsy smile from Blaine. 

I don't even need to pretend to be an idiot, Blaine secretly kicked himself.

"How can anyone not know the great Blaine Anderson," Kurt continued. "Why, your face often graces the papers, albeit more on the gossip pages than the societal pages. Aren't you dating Tina Cohen-Chang? I remember reading about you wrecking a million dollar car by accidentally driving it off the highway, and oh yes, when you burned your house down by accident. That one definitely made the papers."

Blaine could only laugh at the humor of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

Cutting through the damp darkness, the sound of clacking keyboard seemed to magnify up the air as it echoed off the stone walls. Only occasionally disturbed by the sound of flapping bat wings, the noise seemed to drone monotonously on and on in the hallow cave.

It's been days since the gala at the museum, and Blaine once again buried himself deep in the nerve-center of the Batcave, only exiting on occasion in the dark of night for his routine patrols and flood-light calls. Food, sunlight, and the tick-tocks of time seem to all have become non-essential to him as he consumed himself in his quest: The quest to rid Gotham of all scum, pestilence, and filth.

Although there has been a slight addendum since his return from the museum.

Faithful Alfred, again, poked his head inside the Batcave to remind Blaine to take a bite of the sandwich. Seeing his young master hunched over his work, the old butler shook his head.

Blaine seemed to have built a cave within a cave. With advance technology at his disposal, Blaine has custom-built an amphitheater of touch-screen interface that allows him to run multiple complex searches and algorithms with maximum visual display, while doing away with cumbersome hardware like an electronic screen. But rather than buried behind walls of heavy equipment, now Blaine seemed to be cocooned in a cone of flashing and moving images, flickering across the transparent space in concert with Blaine's eye movements. 

Alfred sighed. It may be just a few years before his master jams a fiber optic cable directly into his brain in pursuit for the perfect integration. 

But something has been slightly different ever since Blaine returned. While Alfred still sees the usual suspects floating across Blaine's screen, Joker, Scarecrow, Two-Face, and occasionally the elusive Catwoman, Alfred has begun noticing the flash of an angelic face that cannot be in any shape or fashion associated with the criminal world of Gotham.

When Alfred first inquired about the young man whom Blaine was staring intently at, his master has dismissed the person as just someone he came across at the museum. Alfred understands that Blaine is meticulous and paranoid, so running background checks on acquaintances is not uncommon. Heck, phone tapping and surveillance on anyone is not uncommon.

But he also noticed something in Blaine's eyes. Something he has not seen since Blaine was just but a little boy.

The Anderson family knew Blaine was a genius since the day he was born. And since then, everything around him, his toys, education, activities, food - everything - has been tailored fit to his interests and needs. The good Dr. and Mrs. Wayne wanted the best for their son, and Alfred certainly made sure of it after their untimely murder.

But what made Alfred more proud and fond of the Andersons is that the adoration of the old master and mistress didn't derive from vile vanity or simple indulgence, but rather, it was of pure love.

When Blaine was mere six, he accounted how he doted over this other little boy at the playground to his parents over the dinner table. 

"Next time, can I take him home with me, Mommy?" Little Blaine clung on to his mother's hand, his golden eyes blinking with anticipation. 

"But what will you do with him, if you take him home?" Martha jokingly asked. "You know it's a lot of work to take care of another child. Look how poor Alfred is always running after you. Plus, where would he sleep?"

"I promise, I'll feed him, cloth him, and bathe him," Blaine nodded eagerly. "And he can sleep with me. I have a huge bed and I totally don't mind sharing."

Blaine blushed, his chubby cheeks glowing as his voice softened in shyness, "And I can give him his goodnight kiss every night before we go to bed, just like the ones you and Pappa give me."

While easily dismissable as the naive request of a young child, Alfred felt Martha and Thomas have always known. And they have always been open and supportive, conscientiously not forcing Blaine to accept any dogma that may cause the young boy to second guess his true nature, whatever it may turn out to be. 

And of all things Blaine sacrificed to be the fearsome Batman he has become today, Alfred has always felt that losing and hiding that piece of himself, both in his private life as well as that of his alterego, was Alfred's one biggest regret.

In Blaine's passion to become the dark power of justice through self-discipline that has long past the line of masochism, Blaine seemed to have killed off that one aspect of himself as well.

Blaine Anderson, billionaire playboy who dates the most beautiful and famous of Gotham's eligible ladies, has never been associated with the word "gay". 

Alfred sighed again. Perhaps this young man, with skin like porcelain and soft, delicate features, can signal a turning point in his young master's lonesome, ascetic life.

The sudden intrusiveness of flashing lights forced Alfred to shed his thoughts and rush to his young master's side. Blaine has already begun putting on his batsuit, made up of hundreds of pieces of high-tech fabric and armor laser infused to ensure mobility and protection.

"Is it the Commissioner again?" Alfred asked as he followed Blaine's trail, picking up pieces of discarded clothing. 

"He has some new information about the Joker," Blaine replied as he fitted his bat-mask. "The trail has been cold for months, but the few clues we have definitely points to something big. When the Joker escaped from Arkham, he vowed revenge on the entire city. Whatever he is planning, we must be ready."

Alfred nodded. "Lucious, likewise, feels things have been quiet lately, not just on Joker's front, but across the criminal world, like the calm before a big storm. It is curious that even with his help, the Joker seems to have simply disappeared from the face of the planet."

"We will get to the bottom of this," Blaine stated as he climbed into his Batmobile. "Don't wait up, I plan to patrol the city after my meeting with James."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir," Alfred replied.

* * *

And that is how Batman ended up driving aimlessly around Gotham, the lack of a satisfactory update on the whereabouts of Joker fueling his anger and rage. 

He has been tracking the Joker ever since the clown-faced mastermind staged a brazen prison break that left multiple dead bodies and half of the guards in Arkham disfigured and mangled. What's worse, no one seemed to know who the Joker worked with to plan his escape, who helped him, and where he's gone. Months of hard work and little to show for just demonstrated to Batman the incompetency of his own eagle-eye tracking system and his sources, forcing him to rethink and refine his own methods and network. Now, he just learned that the police, despite being under the leadership of James Gordon, was even more useless, offering him information he has known for weeks as if it was some unobtainable prize. 

Even after breaking the legs of two hapless muggers, hanging a robber by his shoelaces 30-floors above ground and watch him tremble as he begged for his life, and pulling out the teeth of a meth dealer one by one after destroying his meth lab - Batman still felt unsatisfied. In fact, he felt worse. It was as if the Joker was having some kind of party and he is not only not invited, he is unaware of the time and place. The small-time crooks he has been handling only accentuated that nagging feeling.

Just as Batman was about to head back to the Batcave, an ticker across the windshield glass of the Batmobile, which doubles as an electronic display, brought a smirk to Batman's stern face.

Someone has triggered the silent alarm at the Met. With all the expensive jewels on display for the exhibit, Batman knew that sooner or later someone was going to try to take a crack at it.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

When Batman arrived at the Metropolitan Museum, he knew he would only have a short window of time. The triggered silent alarm meant the security guards have already begun sweeping the museum room by room, and soon, police cars with alarms blazing will be piled into the open courtyard in front. 

The noise and the lights would mean total chaos, no control, and ultimately, possible getaway for the criminals. Batman snickered at the thought of the police force with their reliance on clumsy protocols and brute force. By the time they swarm the place, the thieves would have been long gone.

With a swift flick of the wrist, a grapple followed by a thin wire shot out of Batman's hand and shot up to secure it self against the roof railing. Soon, he himself soared through the air like a ghost, only a slight snap of the cape lingered. 

Batman landed himself securely on the third floor balcony, where he knew it would allow him to oversee the exhibit floor. The million dollar price tag on each of the jewels meant the museum had to take extra safety precautions. Each showcase is especially wired with high-tech sensors that, when tripped, reinforced steel bars would fall from the only two doors, effectively caging the thieves inside the exhibit hall. The only way out, if the criminal is who Batman anticipate it would be, would be to scale the twenty-some feet ceiling and climb out of the cage through the third-floor hallway. 

But Batman wasn't sure what to make of the silence before him. It was obvious that the steel cage has not yet been triggered.

Having patched the security radio into his earpiece, he could hear the three night guard's conversations, informing him that their swept of the main floor turned up nothing. Could it be a false alarm? One of the guards even asked. 

A quick remote hack into the museum's closed circuit system allowed Batman to sweep the upper floors of the museum undetected and unseen on the video system, and he quickly arrived at the hallway overseeing the jewelry exhibit.

The floor was quiet. Even the air felt still as each individual showcases stood untouched in their place. 

Batman frowned. The police will be swarming the place in moments. If the criminal does not make his move now, the perfect opportunity will soon be lost.

Suddenly, a voice over his earpiece indicated that one of the security guards saw something down in one of the permanent display rooms, and Batman swiftly moved toward the target.

But before Batman could track down the culprits, two shots rang out and echoed through the empty hallways. The criminal has been cornered by the night guards in one of the rooms, and is now firing back at them while they held him at bay for the police. 

The thief hid behind a large display case as he clung desperately to his gun. Tucked inside his jacket was a small painting that someone had hired him to steal. It was one of the museum's permanent collections, and given that all the focus and attention were on the jewelry exhibit, sneaking into a side room of the museum was fairly simple. He didn't even trigger the obsolete wire alarm connect to the picture frame, as he just simply cut out the canvas with a surgical knife. 

The person who hired him had thought of everything. Some black-market collector probably just wanted that particular painting for his/her collection. It was supposed to be in and out. 

But somehow, now he was stuck and cornered like a caged animal in the museum, with two guards who probably can't even walk 10 steps without tripping here blocking his escape. 

The thief checked his gun again, his fingers shaking. It appears that he will just have to shoot his way out of the museum, killing whoever is necessary.

Slowly, he inched toward the archway. He was pretty certain a guard was hiding behind those walls, if he could only take out that one guard, then he could make his way down the hall.

As he swung around the corner, suddenly all he could see was pitch blackness. Before his brain even registered what was happening, the gun has been knocked out of his hands, and there were just lightening punches and jabs that he could do nothing against.

When he was finally thrown against a wall, he had never been more thankful for having the wind knocked out of him, since at least it would allow him to see what the hell was happening. But all he could see was a black silhouette, a demonic figure surrounded by a pool of darkness that seemed to choke the life out of him.

"Batman...." he whispered hoarsely. 

Batman looked despicably at the heap of the man cowering before him. Just a small time thief. Batman couldn't help but feel the night has, once again, gypped him. The adrenaline rush, the high of taking down one of Gotham's worst - still denied.

He dragged the limp man up by the collar, and threw him to the feet of the security guards, who were fearfully keeping their distance from him. 

"Cuff him," Batman instructed. 

One of the security guards nodded, and began manhandling the thief so he could twist his arms around his back. 

"You dirty thief," The guard cussed at him. "You'll get what's coming to you."

"It was just a painting," The man whose spirit was broken began muttering. "She said it was going to be an easy job, just in and out, quick and clean. No one would even know I was here until the museum opened the next morning...."

The security guards could have swore that Batman had already evaporated into the shadows when suddenly, out of nowhere, he rematerialized right next to them.

"You said 'she'", Batman's voice was like thunder to the guard, who was holding up the crook, and he promptly dropped the man with his startled hands.

Batman dragged the thief to the wall and slammed the man onto his back.

"Who is this person that hired you. What is her name." Batman's menacing voice demanded absolute obedience.

"I.... I don't know," The thief stuttered, his eyes wide with fear. "I only met her once, in the back of an alley. She just handed me the down payment and the instructions. I couldn't even get a good look at her..."

Just as sudden as he appeared, Batman was gone. The man slid down the wall on to the floor, and the security guards could only stare at each other in confusion.

It was as if the Batman was never even there.

* * *

It was so painfully obvious. Batman couldn't believe he didn't see it earlier. A simple diversion, a trick designed to draw away the Batman while the real master thief could slip away unnoticed and unseen.

With lightening speed, Batman moved toward the roof-tops of the Met. It would be the easiest way to get away, considering that the police have already arrived at ground floor of the museum.

And it seemed that Batman got there just in time. 

Just as Batman came around a corner, a snap of the whip crackled through the air, and Batman rolled away just in time before it slashed across his face. A sliver of blood oozed out of a thin cut on his cheek. A reminder of the close-call.

Batman regained his footing, and stared at one of his most enigmatic foes. 

Lazily perched on top of the stone fence on the roof edge, in a thin leather bodysuit that hugged and eventuated every sensual curve on her body, was Catwoman.

"Meow."

"Someone has been a bad pussy cat," Batman sad as he watched Catwoman slowly and languidly begin giving her self a tongue bath, starting with long strokes down her forearm, her limbs moving gracefully and dance-like.

"Yeah? Well sometimes kitties just wanna have fun," Catwoman's voice was soft and sensual, almost androgynous, which only added to her mystery. "And this kitty is not afraid of the big, bad, Batman." 

Displeased with the obvious taunt, Batman took a step toward Catwoman. "Return the jewels to the Museum, or I will have you committed to Arkham Asylum. Let's see how you like being house-trained there."

"Did you see me steal the jewels?" Catwoman, likewise, returned the threat, moving to a combat stance on top the fence. "How do you even know I stole them?"

"It was clever," Batman said. "I'll give you that. Disabling the alarm system while the controls were all focused on a petty thief. But it's over now. Take out the jewels while you still can walk away."

"Like I said," Catwoman sashayed toward Batman, lowering her head in a flirtatious tilt. "You can't prove that I took the jewels. That is, unless you want to frisk me?"

She slowly drew her hand down the side of her body, smoothing the curve of the narrow waist down to the curve of the hips, and finally, ending with a squeeze on her thigh. Batman instinctively followed the movement of her arms, his eyes taking into the thin frame and seductive, inviting gesture.

And it was just the response Catwoman wanted. With a quick tap of the heel, Catwoman landed a roundhouse kick right to the side of Batman's head, knocking the unprepared superhero backward. With acrobatic skills rivaling the best gymnasts, Catwoman gracefully rolled into a side tumble and followed up her previous strike with another hit, her form morphed into a deadly back-heel kick. 

With Catwoman on the offence, the only thing Batman could do was evade. After Catwoman knocked Batman to the ground with her combo kicks, the latter was finally able to roll away and regain his footing in the split second Catwoman needed to catch her breath.

With a quick lunge, Batman moved swiftly toward Catwoman and engaged in arm-to-arm combat, hoping to lock her elbow in a disarm so he can cuff her hands behind her back. But Catwoman had agility and flexibility on her side, and every time when Batman seemed to finally maneuver into a locking position, she was able to extricate her body. The two quickly exchanged hits on the rooftop, moving between the various construction piles and scaffolding left over from the ongoing renovation.

When Catwoman took a misstep during their battle, Batman quickly seized the rare opportunity and slammed his body against hers, pinning her to the wall. While the move immobilized his target, it also put their faces within millimetres from each other. 

Catwoman let out a dramatic and facetious gasp when Batman pressed his legs against Catwoman's to keep her still. "Oh Batman, is that a utility belt, or are you just happy to see me?"

Before Batman could respond, a sudden realization flooded his mind and he could barely keep his grip.

"You.... you are a man..." Batman was almost tongue tied. The flat chest, the outline of another cock pressed up against his own thigh.

"How nice of you to finally notice," Catwoman leaned in slightly to speak, as if to kiss, and a twinkle flashed across her eyes as she realized the flicker in Batman's eyes was not that of disgust, but rather, curiosity. 

"But alas, this kitty needs her beauty sleep." 

Catwoman raised his hand and pulled on the rope hanging over a scaffolding. Apparently the misstep was just another ruse, designed to get Batman exactly where he needed him. Planks, bars, and paint buckets rained down on Batman as Catwoman swiftly moved out of the way.

With Batman pinned beneath the rubble, Catwoman blew a kiss to his defeated foe and quickly disappeared just as police officers busted through the locked rooftop door.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

A lean black silhouette back-flipped into a handstand on the roof edge of a warehouse-looking building and descended effortlessly through a cracked open window onto the top floor. Now safely back in his flat, Kurt slowly surveyed his own private space. It took him a while to find this perfect apartment. With his heists, he can easily afford a swanky apartment in the city. But Kurt Hummel also had appearances to keep - as a museum curator's assistant who was working on his graduate degree in art history, a fancy apartment would certainly raise some eyebrows. So he found this old building in the heart of Gotham's Old Town district. An ex-warehouse, the apartment was renovated into flat style apartments, each having its own floor, with high ceilings, exposed brick walls, and large wrought iron windows. Most importantly, the mix of industrial buildings in the area afforded him just the right matrix of rooftops for him to stretch his legs in the evenings.

Kurt slowly walked toward the large oval mirror beside his dresser, and studied his own reflection. A leather catsuit that he had fashioned himself, it was sewn together like a second layer of skin. Adorned on his head was a leather cap that fused with a cat-eyed mask, with two cat ears sewed on top. Clipped to his belt, a deadly whip that, in the dead of night, gave the impression of a coiled tail that accentuated his round buttocks. 

Kurt turned around and studied his willowy backform and narrow waist. No wonder the very few of those that he had encountered during his night tours dubbed him "Catwoman". And he had never bothered to correct them. What would be the point in sending a corrective manifesto to the media when it was to his advantage? The police has been scouring the streets looking for a female burglar, while no one suspects the museum assistant who had easy access to any and all museum pieces.

Kurt slowly peeled off his body-suit and revealed the porcelain skin that shined in the moonlight in stark contrast to the black leather. Kurt made a mental note as he examined his own work. Fashion over function does have its disadvantages - there was no way that he could have fit all those jewels in his skin-tight outfit.

But no matter, he had stashed the jewels safely in his office inside the museum. No one would suspect that the jewels never left the building. He's going to take a long hot bath, finish his routine nightly skin-sloughing regimen, and tomorrow, Kurt Hummel is going to walk out of the museum with jewels worth millions of dollars.

Then his mind wandered to the caped crusader. Somehow, he is sure that Batman is going to keep his little secret. He couldn't explain why, but he just knew. 

And, as Kurt laid himself into the soothing bathwater and closed his eyes, he pictured those soft pink lips exposed beneath the hardened bat-mask, and wondered what they would taste like.

* * *

When Alfred entered the Batcave with Blaine's morning coffee and paper, the young master was again at his computing console, furiously typing away and sorting through images after images of information.

Perhaps it was just Alfred, but he noticed that Blaine's head was just a tad bit drooped this morning.

"Ahem, your coffee and paper, sir," Alfred lowered the silver platter on his hand, revealing the latest Gotham Times with the bold headline: **Batman Soiled: All Scratches and No Play as Catwoman Got Away.**

Beneath the thick letters was a large photo of Batman on the museum rooftop. But rather than his usual dark and intimidating form, this Batman looked more like a wet canvas, with white paint splattered and spotted all over his million-dollar batsuit.

If Blaine had Superman's laser eyes, the paper would have burnt into ashes. He has never been so humiliated in his life.

"Look on the bright side," Alfred consoled a beet-red Blaine. "Catwoman may have made off with the jewels, but you certainly stole the headline."

Alfred held up the paper and studied the picture. "In fact, I rather like this look on you. All black is, after all, very last season."

Blaine grunted and grabbed the coffee from the platter.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be right now? Can't you see I am very busy?"

"Actually, sir," Alfred thought he'd drive it in further since he was on a roll. "The museum just called. They are contacting the owners of all the jewels that were stolen last night. As you know, since Catwoman now has the Anderson Emerald, they wanted to discuss insurance matters with you."

Blaine put his coffee cup down on the table with a loud bang.

"The museum representative is willing to drop by Wayne Manner this afternoon to speak with you, or, they said that you could also swing by." Alfred paused and looked at Blaine's clouded face. "Or, perhaps I will just handle the matter."

Blaine was just about to nod, when suddenly Kurt's face flashed before his mind. In his research, he had found out that the young man who effortlessly short-circuited his mind with those hips and then judged him with those beautiful eyes was none other than Kurt Hummel, an assistant for the museum curator.

"No, I don't mind swinging by the museum later," Blaine said as he looked guiltily away from Alfred's all-knowing eyes. "That emerald is an important family heirloom."

"Whatever you say, sir," Alfred replied.

* * *

Blaine Anderson yawned for the 20th time today as he returned to the backseat of his Rolls Royce, with Alfred in the driver's seat. The day had been a total loss. He didn't even have to pretend to doze off in the meeting with the museum and the insurance rep. He could have cared less about the emerald and the hundreds of thousands of dollars the insurance company now has to cough up just to partially cover his loss. What's worse, the nap he took in the meeting wasn't the least bit satisfying, for he had to keep one eye open in case one Kurt Hummel happens to stroll by outside the conference room. 

But he wasn't having much luck today. 

Blaine Anderson has never been a man to believe in luck, but lately, with Joker's disappearance and the accidental slip with Catwoman, he found his rational resolve wavering. If it's not bad luck, then what could it be? The only other explanation would point to a potential flaw in his methods. Which, Blaine was convinced, is inconceivable.

That Catwoman is actually a man, though, was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Blaine even surprised himself that he has not yet chosen to share that bit with Alfred. The intelligence definitely means he must rethink his engagement protocol with Catwoman, Blaine pursed his lips in vexation. Next time, he is going to be ready, and payback is going to be a bitch.

The Rolls Royce slowly left the museum parking lot and merged into the heavy traffic in the front of the museum's main gate. 

"Isn't that Mr. Hummel? The young man I've seen on your screen?" Alfred's mention of a familiar name snapped Blaine out of his thoughts. "Is that him standing on the corner?"

Blaine nearly strained his neck as he whipped his head toward the street side to verify the news. Sure enough, a young, impeccably dressed young man was standing on the street corner, desperately trying to waive down a cab. Beside him was a large antique doctor's bag that looked quite heavy, and the young man's shoulder slumped to the side as he struggled to hold it. 

Without being prompted, Alfred drove to the street corner and parked the car before the young man who was beginning to look desperate as each cab that passed him seem to have been occupied already. 

Kurt took a cautious step back as the expensive and shiny black car rolled to a stop before him, and a man in a conspicuous Versace suit jumped out eagerly. 

He was even more taken aback when the man began to approach him as if they were age-old pals. Kurt wondered if he should kick the guy to the ground and take off on foot. But he quickly recognized the goofy face of that despicable Blaine Anderson, who seemed to love hogging space in the gossip pages.

"Hi!" Blaine ran up to the confused and cautious Kurt. "Fancy running into you here. It seems like every time I'm at the museum I would run into you."

"How do you do, Mr. Anderson?" Kurt's knuckles whitened against the handle of the heavy bag. His intent was to go straight home, and any interference was the last thing he wanted right now. He tried to come up with an excuse to get rid of the man. 

"I am on my way to a client's home to appraise an artwork, so I am kind of busy right now."

"I can see that," Blaine eyed Kurt's heavy bag. "Why don't I give you a lift. Cabs are extremely difficult to get at this time of the day."

"Oh no, no," Kurt waved his hand, unable to fathom why the famous billionaire playboy refuses to make himself scarce. "I couldn't possibly inconvenience you. I'll be okay."

"It's really no trouble at all," Blaine insisted, flashing his brights. I just finished a meeting and my evening is wide open. I mean, my car is right here, so why not just let us give you a lift?"

He signaled to Alfred behind the wheel, hoping the elderly gentleman would provide Kurt with more assurance. Alfred sighed and mirrored his master in giving the confused and slightly-annoyed young man his most trustworthy smile.

"Fine," Kurt snapped. "You are not going to leave me alone until I get in that car, are you?"

Before Blaine could answer, Kurt walked to the side of the car.

"Well?" He raised his eyebrow at Blaine Anderson. "Do you expect me to open my own car door?"

* * *

Kurt took a sip of the vintage wine in the crystal glass and glided his tongue against his lips to savor the aroma. He has been in some pretty unusual situations in his time, but never had he thought he would be sharing a home-cooked meal with Blaine Anderson, of all people, while million-dollars worth of of jewels is stashed in the trunk of his Rolls Royce. 

While on the way to the fictitious "client" that Kurt made up, he had lightly brought up the stolen Anderson Emerald. Blaine's blatant dismissal of the topic was genuine enough to convince a suspicious Kurt that the motive of the car-ride was something else, and it wasn't until Blaine insisted that he gives Kurt a tour of the Anderson Manner after they couldn't find the address, that Kurt realized that the focus of Blaine's attention was actually on he himself. 

Now, after a simple meal in one of the most beautiful dining rooms Kurt has ever seen, Blaine was taking Kurt around the mansion, wine glasses in hand, showing him the various artworks and treasures Blaine and the Anderson family have gathered. 

"Is this a pianoforte?" Kurt gasped as he saw a golden grand piano in the middle of of an otherwise empty room. The well-polished wooden panels were decorated with ornate paintings featuring David and the Goliath, with gold-leafed trimmings and soft, ivory keys. Kurt couldn't help but trace his fingers across the smooth and cool curve of the piano as he studied the beauty.

"Eighteenth Century, Italy," Blaine stood back and enjoyed the gleam in Kurt's eyes as he examined one artwork after another. "Would you like to play it?"

"Oh no," Kurt smiled sweetly. "I haven't played the piano in years. I used to take lessons, before my father passed away, but that was a long time ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Blaine lowered his voice. From his research, he knew that Kurt's mother died when he was the same age that Blaine lost his parents, and while his father was there for him, he died of an heart-attack when Kurt was just seventeen, leaving the boy in the foster care system and moving from home to home. It was probably their similar background that drew Blaine closer to Kurt. 

"Why don't I play something for you, then," Blaine suggested, pulling out the matching piano bench. 

"Please," Kurt tilted his head at the proposal. Throughout the evening he has been pleasantly surprised at how different the real Blaine Anderson is from the one characterized by the tabloids. The Blaine he has gotten to know this evening is intelligent, charming, and now, also talented. 

Blaine sat down at the pianoforte and began to play, his fingers flying over the keyboards in rapid movement.

"Mm, Bach. Prelude and Fugue in C minor," Kurt recognized the piece immediately and closed his eyes to let the notes wash over him like rapid raindrops. C-minor, a key that symbolizes the struggle of the Hero in classical music. It was interesting that Blaine would choose this piece of the Well-Tempered Clavier. Before today, Kurt would probably have found the combination comical. But now, he couldn't even associate the man before him with those crass antics he has read about in the papers.

After Blaine finished the piece, the man got up and took an exaggerated bow before Kurt. Kurt couldn't help but giggle at Blaine's smug and flirtatious gestures, and responded with his own delicate clap, chanting "Bravo, bravo!"

It was only when both finished laughing that they realized their bodies have been inadvertently drawn together. The discovery made Kurt gasp lightly, but yet not wanting to pull away.

And when Kurt felt the warmth of a hand on his hips, gently pulling him closer, his eyes flickered slightly before demurely looking downward.

Blaine could only see one thing, and one thing only, and that was the soft curves of Kurt's lips. When he sensed the slight gesture of acquiescence from Kurt, he went for the kill and pressed their lips together, slightly turning his head from side to side to revel the velvet sensation of Kurt's lips.

Then a slight opening, an invitation to deepen the kiss, and Blaine complied as he drew Kurt closer into his body, his heart fluttering as he felt Kurt melt into his arms as they both lost themselves in the embrace.

It was only when they ran out of breath that they reluctantly parted. But even so, Blaine touched his forehead to Kurt's to savor his warmth.

"I want to see you again," Blaine whispered between labored breaths. "This weekend, or tomorrow."

"I have class, and I have to take a trip out of town this weekend," Kurt replied, remembering that he has set up a meeting with a buyer to take the jewels off his hand this weekend.

"But how about the weekend after?" Kurt said shyly. "I'll be representing the museum at the Mayor's Ball. You must be going as well, right? Come with me, be my date."

The last thing Kurt expected was for Blaine to go completely rigid at the invitation. He looked up in surprise and found that Blaine's eyes had gone from tender to reluctant. 

Then it dawned on Kurt. He had completely misjudged Blaine. Of course, with the endless socialites on his arms in parties after parties, Blaine must have just been looking for a disposable boy-toy, not some serious, public relationship. Kurt could feel the tears swell up in his eyes as he kicked himself for being so stupid.

"No, Kurt, let me explain," Blaine felt like someone has just kicked him in the gut as he saw the pained look in Kurt's eyes. 

"Okay, then explain," Kurt took a deep breath and took Blaine straight on. "What was that all about, is there a problem with being with me at the Mayor's Ball?"

"I...." Blaine wanted to explain, to justify why he has already asked Rachel Berry, famous Broadway Diva, to be his date for the Ball, and how he suspected the event to be attended by some suspicious characters that he needed to monitor. He wanted to tell Kurt how it would only be for his protection that they keep their budding relationship secret... But no matter how he rehearsed the words in his head, they just wouldn't come out right.

"I thought so," Kurt answered in disdain as he watched Blaine struggle with words. "I think you may have misjudged me, Mr. Anderson. I have no intentions of outing you, nor would I want to stay with you in this ornate closet. I am proud of who I am, and I want to be with someone who would be proud to stand beside me."

Kurt handed his glass to a stunned Blaine.

"I had a lovely evening. Thank you for your hospitality," Kurt turned and stormed out of the room. "I can find Alfred in the kitchen to take me back. Have a nice life." 

It was only when Blaine found himself alone in the piano room that Blaine realized that his fists were so tightly wound that his fingernails have cut into the flesh of his palm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The warnings apply to this chapter.

**CHAPTER FIVE**

The Batmobile was, once again, plowing through Gotham's beltway interstate on top speed in the middle of the night. Batman gritted his teeth as he forced his mind to focus on the pursuit. He has completely resigned himself to uncovering the Joker and his whereabouts in the last few weeks, and while even Alfred has voiced concerns of his beyond-obsessive focus on the investigation, he has finally gotten some good leads.

An oncoming car swerved to avoid the high-speed chase, and Batman reveled in the burn in his retinas as the ultra-bright headlight shined directly into his eyes. He has barely seen any sunlight for days, choosing to reside in the shadows, away from anything that could possibly remind him of those cerulean eyes. 

Batman winced unconsciously as his betraying mind wandered to that awkward evening in the Mayor's Gala. Kurt had arrived with a date in tow: Dr. Sebastian Smythe, a psychiatrist that once worked with inmates in Arkham Asylum. Not only did Batman had to mentally restrain himself from breaking Dr. Smythe's arm into three pieces every time it snaked around Kurt's willowy waist, his sudden hatred for the man was compounded by the inconvenient fact that Dr. Smythe was a person of interest in the Joker's jail break. 

Sebastian Smythe was actually a year behind Blaine when he attended Dalton Academy, the most prestigious all-boy's school in Gotham. And the two even had a pretty strong friendship built on mutual respect - they were both brilliant, ambitious, and out to change the world. But while Blaine sought to create a world of order, Sebastian was more focused in the chaos. 

Blaine tried to pull Kurt aside at the Gala to warn him about Sebastian. 

"How self-centered of you to think I came with Sebastian just to spite you," but Kurt had brushed off his concerns as mere signs of jealousy. Although, to be honest, Blaine did feel a knot in his stomach every time that smirky little meerkat faced man touched Kurt. 

"I'm merely saying, Kurt, that he is a dangerous man, and I just don't want you to get hurt," Blaine couldn't divulge any of the alarming intelligence he has gathered about Sebastian's experiments on the Arkham inmates, nor the Joker connection. So he could do nothing but insist.

"I think I am perfectly capable of protecting myself, thank you very much," Kurt tried, but couldn't hide the hurt that was still in his eyes. Blaine never called or attempted to explain after that day in the Wayne Manor, as if tacitly admitting to the fact that he would be ashamed to be seen with Kurt in public. And now, the man was trying to break-up him and Sebastian, the only openly gay couple in the Gala.

"Rather than following me around, I think you should pay more attention to your own date," Kurt tilted his chin toward an inebriated Ms. Rachel Berry, who was attempting to climb the speaker podium to belt out her latest Broadway solo. "Leave me alone, Blaine. I think you've made it perfectly clear that you don't want to have anything to do with me. So please, go and have a nice life."

Batman gripped the steering wheel harder, angry at himself for letting Kurt seep into his thoughts once again. He had chosen to focus all his energy on the Joker so that he couldn't have a single moment in the day to let his mind wander. Kurt Hummel was like a drug, an addiction, one that he thought he could quit through sheer will. But now he just has more pent-up anger as day after day as he realized his own mind was his greatest enemy.

The getaway car he has been chasing suddenly took the ramp off the highway and disappeared behind some warehouse buildings, and Batman quickly followed. But to his dismay, he soon found himself with an empty car, abandoned in a dead end. He was sure there was no other way out, so the criminals, goons that possibly are working for the Joker, must have gone into one of these warehouses.

Batman jumped out of the Batmobile just as he saw a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He fired the grapple gun with the high-tensile wire and swung himself up to the top edge of the warehouse. He planed to cut off the goons before they get to wherever it is they are going. They were his best lead to the Joker, and Batman would be damned before he let them get away.

Ten minutes of endless searches and chases later, Batman again lost the two men in the maze of heavy machinery and containers. It was obvious his targets knew the warehouse like their own backyard, and Batman was going to have to step up if he wanted to see results.

Batman actually stopped himself and held himself still as he rethought his next steps. He could feel the adrenalin pumping through his veins. But that's not enough if he wants to finish this right here, right now. He needed more. He needed the rage, the anger, the hate, and the frustration, and he needed to channel all that into himself, let it fuel him, charge him.

At it wasn't hard at all. Batman gripped his fists tighter as he gave chase once again. He is ready to beat those guys within a inch of their life, maybe he would actually just let go this time and let them fall from the top of the building. 

Suddenly, a crackle in the air got his attention, and Batman raised his arm to block the attack. The tail of a whip wrapped itself around his forearm, and Batman could feel the heat of the leather sear into his flesh beneath the suit. 

The whip quickly disengaged before Batman could grab a hold of it, and just as fast as it disappeared, another strike followed, aiming for his throat. 

Batman pivoted his body, barely missing the second strike. Struggling to get his footing, Batman discharged a batarang toward the source of the whip, hoping to fight off the aggressor and buy him a breathing moment.

Sure enough, the whip attacks ceased as a person grunted before a thud in the pitch darkness. 

"Show yourself," Batman growled, his shoulders hunched over in a battle stance. Eyes bloodshot, Batman knew that this detour was going to cost him his prize, and they are going to pay.

"You are too late," A shapely figure slowly appeared before Batman, and the soft, feminine voice, confirmed the identity of the person.

"Catwoman, when did you began colluding with the Joker?" Batman practically snarled at him. "Or, should I call you Catman?"

"I collude with no one," Catwoman stretched his whip, keeping his eyes again on Batman's throat. "And you are an idiot. I just told you, they are gone. As in split, skedaddle. I think all those heavy padding are not only weighing you down, Batman, they've slowed your brain as well."

"And the Joker planted you here to cover them, so that they can disappear," Batman shook his head. "You are not going to get away this time."

"Though it was awfully easy last time," Catwoman licked his lips. 

"Look, Batman, I don't have to answer to you," He continued after eyeing a visibly angered Bat. "What I do is none of your business. I'm leaving now, and if you try to stop me, it won't be just a few scratches like last time."

"Hm," Batman grunted and, without warning, lunged forward knocking Catwoman to the ground with a leg swipe. "You are coming with me to the police station. We are far from done."

Catwoman quickly rolled to the side and jumped up to a fighting position before Batman could twist his arm behind his back to cuff them together. 

"Bad puppy," Catwoman slowly circled around the Batman. "Looks like you didn't learn your lesson last time."

Batman was silent as he attacked again, and the two quickly began hand-to-hand combat. Batman was able to use his strength and skilled moves, pressing ever closer to Catwoman. But while there were a few close calls, Catwoman was always able to slither out of his grasp through sheer agility.

But Catwoman knew he was bound to lose if they keep fighting in close quarters. He needed to emphasize his own strengths - kicks and his deadly whip - both of which requiring more distance between their bodies. 

In one swift move, Catwoman cartwheeled and tumbled onto an elevated walkway, and quickly drew out her whip to attack Batman. Caught off guard, Batman could only block with his arms, and the whip quickly circled around them, binding his arms before him. Catwoman smiled as he knew a quickly tug would mean he could drag Batman to the ground and begin his getaway.

But Batman was ready. He had customized his arm guard toward Catwoman's fighting style, and with a quick flex, sharp spikes sprung out from the side of his arms. With a twist, Batman simply sliced the whip into segments, freeing his own arms.

Catwoman gasped as he tumbled back from the lack of resistance, and within seconds, he turned around and began to run. Prolonged combat is not his strength, and if Batman could destroy his whip, he was definitely not going to keep fighting.

But Catwoman screamed as he suddenly fell forward hard onto the floor, his two legs stuck together. Looking down, he realized his legs have been tied together by some type of bola, likely produced from Batman's utility belt and then lodged at him.

Before Catwoman could untangle the bola, a shadow fell on him. Catwoman could feel the iron-clad grips on his wrists as Batman pressed his arms over his head. 

"Let me go, you asshole," Catwoman struggled to fight off the person on top of him, but Batman was too strong. 

"I think I am the one who is going to teach the lesson today," Batman's low and raspy voice startled Catwoman, and the latter shuddered from the predatory glare of the eyes that pierced from the black mask.

"What are you going to do to me?" Catwoman could see the vulnerability in his position, and the holding pen in the police station suddenly didn't sound so bad.

"What we do to wild and stray cats." While still pinning Catwoman's hands down, Batman ran his other hand down the side of Catwoman's face, and cupped his cheek. The eeriness of the gesture send a shiver down Kurt's spine.

A leathered thumb then moved to press against Catwoman's lips as if demanding entrance, and once again, a frightened Catwoman tried to thrash his body so he could wiggle out from under Batman. 

Catwoman heard a low chuckle above him, and he watched as Batman pull out another rope from his belt, and tied his hands together over his head before rising from his body. While Catwoman was no longer weighted down on the floor, with his hands and feet both bound together, he could only roll himself into a fetal position in attempt to defend any potential attacks.

So it was only to his surprise when he felt himself being picked up and, as Batman sat down on a nearby chair, draped over his nemesis' knees. 

"What are you doing!?" Catwoman shrieked as he felt a hand circling and lightly kneading his ass, while the other grabbed a hold of his throat, tightening and choking him if he struggled.

But Batman was silent. And Catwoman only felt more horrified as the hand traced the crack of Catwoman's butt to his perineum, then slowly cupped his balls through the thin leathery fabric. Catwoman tried to pressed himself up from the legs, but the grip on his throat only tightened, forcing him to gasp for air. 

When the first strike came down, Catwoman could only gurgle in shock. Kurt's whole body shook at the impact, completely unprepared for the rough slap on his ass. 

"No, stop," Catwoman managed to grunt out between gasps as the slaps continued. The loud and crisp sound echoed through the warehouse with Catwoman's gasps, further accentuating the sickening shame and helplessness felt by him. 

The stinging pain on his butt cheeks burned as Batman continued to spank Catwoman, shifting from one cheek to another, and occasionally reaching down to slap his cock and balls.

Never been subjected to such humiliation, Catwoman could do nothing to hold back the sobs. His body still convulsed each time he received a painful strike, which now felt like thousands of needles being pressed into his flesh. 

Batman wasn't even crushing his throat anymore, as Catwoman was nearly passed out from choking on his own tears. His body was limp and beaten, draped defenselessly over Batman's legs.

"Please," Catwoman whimpered as Batman took a slight pause to feel the burning butt cheeks radiating heat beneath the thin leather bodysuit. "Please, stop..."

"We are just getting started, little kitty," Batman's low voice only brought a sickening feeling to Catwoman's stomach as she felt a sharp knife point pressed against her backside. 

With a flip of the wrist, Batman cut through the thin leather fabric of the catsuit, and split the suit down Catwoman's backside to reveal two beet red butt cheeks. On top the porcelain flesh were crisscrossing scarlet handprints, and little bead of blood were slowly seeping to the surface and oozing out of the flawless skin.

Batman slowly removed the leather glove on his punishing hand, and traced the overlapping marks on Catwoman's ass with his naked fingers. The flesh on flesh contact sent a shudder to both of their guts, and Catwoman sobbed again as he felt Batman's cock slowly hardened against him.

"You will pay for this," Catwoman choked between the sobs as he felt a finger circling the puckered ring of his anus, testing and prodding. 

"Perhaps I need to change my methods," Batman mused at the threat, and reached for a vile of lube in his belt. "I can think of some ways to make this fun for you, too."

Batman flipped open the cap of the vile, and poured the liquid down Catwoman's butt crack. The cold oil slowly slicked down to cover the ring of the anus, and traveled down to soak his balls, eventually trailing down Catwoman's explosed cock. 

"No..." Catwoman whispered as the lube tickled his sensitive flesh, and he could feel his own cock twitch in the cold air in response to the sensation. 

"Relax," Batman coaxed as if speaking to a pet, and a finger slowly breached the tight right of the anus, and pushed itself into the warm cavity of Catwoman's body.

"You sick.... I'm going to- " Catwoman choked as a rough leathered thumb shoved into his mouth, pressing and dominating his tongue, further making him gag. 

But he could only whimper as Batman finger-fucked his mouth and his anus. Batman eventually added another finger to his backside, stretching his hole wider as they dug deeper inside him. 

Then, finally, they hit their spot against Catwoman's prostate, and Catwoman moaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a GKM smut fill... I honestly don't know why it took me this much text to get to the smut.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes non-con and bondage - please heed the warnings.

**Chapter Six**

Kurt felt like his entire body was on fire. 

Even in the dimly lit abandoned warehouse, he was sure Batman could see the glowing crimson emanating from his bare skin. Result of a combination of humiliation, horror, and much to his disgust, involuntary pleasure.

Batman's leathered thumb was still shoved in his mouth, and as he struggled in vain to evade the fingers digging in his anus, he was forced to swallow the hardened digit further down his throat. But what made it worse was when Batman began to prod and tease his prostate, playing his body against his own will... Kurt felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness as he was skewered from both ends, finger-fucked by a man he knew nothing about.

And Batman - it was as if he enjoyed controlling this unwrapped body draped limp over his lap, and took pride in making it whimper and shudder to his liking. 

Kurt could feel more tears stinging his eyes when Batman gave another low chuckle above him. 

"I bet little kitty likes it rough," Batman's fingers wandered down to lightly smack Kurt's semi-hardened cock, much to his embarrassment. "Maybe if you beg and promise to be a good little pussy cat, I will give it to you good..."

"uck.. u..!" Kurt couldn't even swear properly with the digit thrust in his mouth, and another loud slap on his butt cheek made him shriek. 

"Beg," Batman smacked the blood-red cheeks again and again, and Kurt could do nothing but sob as his body convulsed at each painful slap. But he refused to beg. He refused to give Batman that satisfaction.

And Batman could sense Kurt's stubbornness as well, and he wanted to, had to, take it up a notch. He could feel Catwoman's dick hardening beneath his hand, and it excited him. Deep down inside, he always lived for that adrenaline rush fueled by blood and pain, but he has never felt so turned on by them as he was today, with Catwoman as his captive. 

The knowledge that Catwoman was a man, that beneath the skin-tight catsuit was flawless, porcelain skin, and that little, kitty-like whimper every time he thrust his fingers inside that pliant, willow-like body, was making his blood boil like never before.

While Batman had expected Catwoman to refuse to submit - and he would be disappointed otherwise - he did not anticipate how aroused he would be by the challenge. 

At that moment, he has never wanted to conquer anything more in his entire existence.

Finally, as Batman withdrew his thumb from Catwoman's mouth and lowered him down, the latter was able to find some release. But the fit of coughs that followed felt like rakes on his throat, and Catwoman could do nothing but lay on the floor as he tried to sooth his battered neck and larynx.

The moment of comfort was short lived. Catwoman could feel Batman towering over him, and despite the Batsuit and cape fading into the relative darkness, Batman's intense gaze on his tethered body felt like two spotlights. He could even feel them meandering from his lips, down his torso and to his privates. He was a lamb for slaughter, and the false moment of peace was only afforded by the butcher trying to decide where he wanted to take the first cut.

In a futile attempt, Kurt began to wiggle away from his captor. With his hands and feet bound, he leaned on one side of his body and tried to inch away, away from the fate that he knew awaited him. But Batman was always close behind, hovering over him, humiliating him with his overwhelming presence like a haunting shadow.

Kurt gasped as he suddenly felt an iron grip on his ankle, and whimpered when it drew him easily beneath Batman. The rough hands flipped him to his back. Kurt shuddered as he felt the icy cold floor against his bare butt cheeks, and he tried not to look into those burning eyes as Batman tented over his entire body. 

"That's enough," Batman didn't even attempt to mask the naked lust in his voice. He slowly straddled Catwoman's chest and began to unseal the synthetic fabric restricting his now painful bulge. Catwoman tried to look away, but even without eye contact, he could feel the heat from Batman's cock, twitching at the loss of its confinement and rapidly springing to life in anticipation of the enveloping warmth.

"Be a good kitty and open up wide," Batman slid a palm beneath Catwoman's head and gently lifted it up to align those soft lips with his cock. He had wanted to shove his member inside those velvet lips the first time he's ever laid eyes on them. 

Catwoman shook his head. "I swear to god, I will bite it off you asshole. I dare you to try..."

Batman chuckled.

"Perhaps we need a little more house-training." 

Batman circled his arm behind him and gripped Catwoman's exposed cock, and slowly tightened his fingers around the vulnerable flesh.

"Ugh," Catwoman could only groan in pain as Batman increased his squeeze.

"I like to use a combination of carrot and stick when training house pets," Batman mused. "So open up wide and be a good little kitty. Trust me, it can get much worse."

Catwoman gasped as Batman gave anther painful squeeze on his dick, and Batman seized the opportunity to thrust his cock straight into the wet crevice. The thick cock almost unhinged Kurt's jaw and he was forced to relax his mouth so he could accommodate the forceful intrusion. As Batman maneuvered Kurt's head in a slow rhythm, Kurt felt the ridges of the cock slide across his tongue as it moved in and out of his mouth, its tip pressing ever closer to the back of his throat, savoring the vibration from his groans. The musky scent of lust and masculinity surrounding the cock was so strong and domineering, it completely overwhelmed his senses, making him instinctively becoming more and more submissive to the unyielding rod in his mouth.

Kurt had never felt so hopelessly used. It was as if he was just a plaything purely for Batman's pleasure. And much to his horror, he could feel the cock in his mouth bulging as Batman's thrusts become more erratic. Kurt began to struggle despite the painful grip on his dick, not wanting Batman to cum inside his mouth.

Then abruptly, Batman pulled out.

"Too early," Batman muttered between labored breaths. "I'm not done yet, little kitty."

"Perhaps we should see who the man behind the Cat mask really is," Batman said softly, as if merely stating a thought out loud as he decided on what to do next. "I doubt they'll let you keep the mask anyway when I turn you over to the authorities."

"No!" Catwoman struggled to free himself beneath Batman's weight, but already weakened from the torments, he could do nothing to budge the restraints. "Please, no, let me keep the mask on..."

It was his last ounce of dignity, his only salvation. The anonymity was like a protective cloak that not only shielded him from paying for his crimes, but more importantly, they preserved his true self even when his body was being violated against his will.

"Please... " Catwoman pleaded again, "Not the mask."

And for a second, when they looked into each other's eyes, there was a spark of fear of what they actually may see behind the mask. And even Batman, in his wild, primal state, couldn't bring himself to disregard the sanctity of the mask.

"Fine," Batman's hand moved away from the cat-mask covering half of Kurt's face. "The mask stays. But I demand compensation."

"What, what do you want," Catwoman whispered. "What do I have?"

A flash of the blade, and Catwoman felt his hands and feet freed from the ropes. Slowly rotating his wrists to regain circulation, Catwoman looked up at Batman with questioning eyes.

"Prepare yourself for me," Batman's voice lingered in the empty warehouse like soft thunder. "Touch yourself and stretch out your little tight ass. I want to watch."

Kurt felt a small vile of lube tossed to him as Batman slowly disappeared into the darkness. He could still feel the burning eyes on his body, as Batman expected a show. It was as if he was center in a stage, alone in the spotlight, with a faceless audience.

"Begin," Batman's voice emerged out of nothingness, as if sensing his hesitation. "Do it, or I will take off your mask and lock you away in Arkham."

Biting back a sob, Kurt slowly poured the lube onto his fingers, and reached for his anus. Completely beet red, Kurt had to lift up his own buttocks off the ground. He slowly inserted a finger into himself, spreading his legs wide before his dark audience so he could get a better reach. 

"More," the voice commanded. "Put more fingers inside."

Kurt groaned as he obeyed, adding another finger into himself, and then another. He could feel his hole widening as he slid his own fingers in and out of the tight passage, and the liquid providing ample lubrication. 

His body couldn't help but begin writhing ever so slightly as his own cock became semi-erect. Breathing heavily, Kurt laid down prone on the floor and began to stroke himself with his other hand, while he continued to finger himself. 

Soon, he was in his own world as he was close to reaching his own climax. Catwoman's body coiled and uncoiled like a snake as he tried again and again to climb the waves of pleasure to his release.

In that moment, Kurt didn't care if he was moaning like a whore, or that Batman was watching, probably jerking off in the darkness as he watched. In fact, he found the thought of Batman's gaze exhilarating. The heavy breathing he was hearing from the darkness indicated that the usually stealthy Batman has completely lost control. And while Kurt knew he will seek his revenge only if he can get away and live another day, he couldn't help but focus on this small victory of his power over the big, bad, Batman.

Catwoman's chest became taunt as he closed in on his release. Kurt moaned louder, and deepened his fingers inside himself.

But before he could push himself over the edge, suddenly Batman attacked and pounced on him like a predator to a prey. Batman roughly pushed Catwoman's face down on the floor, pulled his butt up in the air, and without any warning, mounted him from behind like a wild animal. 

"Oh god," Catwoman moaned as Batman pulled out and reinserted himself again into the wet passage, deepening his thrust with a snap of his waist. Catwoman could feel the muscle of his anus shuddering and spasming to accommodate the elongated thickness as it filled him beyond anything he's experienced. 

Batman continued to plunge roughly into Catwoman from behind, his arms gripping Catwoman's shoulders to keep his captive firm against the ground. Catwoman's cries with each violent thrust against his prostate were soon mixed with loud, heavy grunts from Batman as the latter bent down to gnaw at Catwoman's back, occasionally biting into Catwoman's flesh to still the convulsing body.

With one loud scream, Kurt came, spilling his own semen on to the concrete floor. And, as he threw his head back against Batman's shoulder, he could feel an explosion of hot fluid inside him as Batman, likewise, reached his release.

Catwoman could only lay boneless on the ground, panting, as Batman slowly withdrew his cock from the stretched out hole. Catwoman could feel the warm liquid slither out of his body, down his thighs and dripping to the ground.

"You..." Catwoman wasn't able to catch his breath. "You... fuck... you came inside me...." 

"The lube I used has a counter agent to destroy any DNA material," Batman's voice was almost distant. "So our identities are safe even if this place is swept for forensics tomorrow."

"You asshole," Catwoman slowly propped himself up from the dirty floor. "I don't give a damn about that. I swear to god, you will pay for what you did to me today." 

Batman chuckled.

"You better stay out of my way, little pussy cat. I don't want to see you involved in any more burglaries or anything associated with the Joker, or else next time I am really going to have my way with you."

And with a swift break of the cape, Batman was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this chapter, technically the GLM Prompt is filled, so I am marking this fic completed for now. I do have outlines for a couple more chapters involving the Joker, and definitely more sex, but the workstream will have to wait for a bit while I finish other fics.

**Chapter Seven**

Blaine cursed again as he threw another computer screen on to the floor. He's been spending a good hour trashing the million dollar equipments in the Batcave, but all the shattered glass and twisted metal beneath his feet could not appease how angry he has been feeling ever since he got back from the warehouse. 

Blaine typically couldn't care less about hurting the common criminals. Sure, Batman does not kill, but maim, break, torture... he's never had a problem. These people don't deserve sympathy, or even empathy. God knows the faceless criminal that murdered his parents had neither, and obviously deserves none. 

But this time, it felt different. It just felt different. 

Blaine picked up another fancy instrument and smashed it on the stone floor. 

"Fuck!" Blaine screamed into the abyss of the cave. To add another layer to his frustration, even in anger he has been totally out of sync with how he would typically vent his acrimony. In the past, if Blaine wanted to vent his anger, there are always more criminals to beat to a pulp, or if it was during the day, he has endless training routines he can follow to make sure his body, mind, and spirit are all in top shape.

But that's just it. Blaine felt that everything was out of order this time. It's like all his lines and boundaries and disciplines were blurred together. He always thought he knew exactly what he was doing, who he needed to be, or want to be. But right now, he is not so sure anymore. 

Destroying equipments like a child? What the fuck was he doing? 

Forcing himself on Catwoman, or Catman, or whatever he is? Is that the real Batman? Was it really no different than his usual rules-don't-apply approach with other criminals?

Blaine grabbed the side of his work-desk and flipped it roughly, sending hundreds of files and papers flying around him.

Exhaling and exasperated, Blaine sat down on the littered floor with his head down. That's when he saw the photo.

The photo was buried beneath the piles of papers, but even with just a glance of the corner, Blaine instantly knew whose picture it was. He has looked at it a million times, and fantasized with it more times he would admit.

Blaine pulled out the photo.

It was a picture of Kurt Hummel, taken when he was flagging down a cab outside the Met. Taken with a telephoto lens in one of Blaine's stakeouts. 

Blaine gently touched the photo, running his finger down Kurt's milky white skin. 

Blaine knew it all started when he met Kurt. The soft spoken, smart, and sassy young man has unleashed something deep down inside him. A hunger, a desire, that he has long oppressed. What Kurt brought out of him was so strong, so powerful, that his attempts at denying it is only destroying his own self control.

And Blaine has always been a man of action. Blaine knew, right then, that he needed to see Kurt right away.

* * *

Blaine has rehearsed many variations of his speech to Kurt on the car ride over. He even got Alfred to score him and help him evaluate which version of the story would be the most effective, at least until Alfred threatened to drive the car over the bridge.

But what Blaine had not counted on was that Kurt flat out refused to let him in the building.

"Kurt, just give me one minute, that's all I ask," Blaine spoke into the old buzzing intercom outside of Kurt's apartment building. They were in the pre-gentrified area of Gotham's Old Town, and the shiny Rolls Royce was sticking out like a sore thumb amid the stripped vehicles abandoned out front.

"Listen, Blaine," Kurt's low and hoarse voice sounded tired even through the noise of the intercom. "This is not a good time, okay? I am not feeling well and I just don't want to see anybody right now. So please, go home."

"I know you are still mad at me," Blaine wouldn't take no for an answer. "But please believe me that I have a good explanation, and please, if you would just give me a moment to explain myself."

Blaine heard a sigh on the other side of the speakers.

"I guess you are not going to leave until I let you up," Kurt said.

Forgetting that they were not face to face, Blaine nodded vigorously. Kurt's voice sounded annoyed on the other end, Blaine thought to himself. It seemed like their meetings always start out with Kurt being annoyed at him. But Blaine is determined that it would not end like the last time.

A loud buzzing sound followed, and Blaine pushed opened the door into the building. Before he entered, Blaine remembered to turn around and gave Alfred a big thumbs up.

Alfred facepalmed.

* * *

"Okay, now you see me," Kurt cracked opened the door to his loft just an inch so that Blaine could see him. "You have one minute. Go."

"What?" Blaine was flabbergasted. "You want to have this conversation like this? With me outside your door?"

Kurt rolled his eyes and quickly studied his loft. Even though it took him tremendous effort to finally get back home last night, well, more like this morning, he still managed to put away his shredded suit and any indication of his night life. So letting Blaine in the apartment shouldn't be a problem.

If it weren't for the fact that every muscle in his body is screaming in pain and that he can barely take two steps without his ass feeling like it's on fire, he would have loved to go outside right at this moment and beat the crap out of the love-sick puppy that wouldn't stop yapping outside his door.

In his current conditions, however, even a love-sick fly could probably take him. 

So Kurt relented, and took a step back. Biting back a hiss from the soreness behind him, Kurt widened the door to let Blaine in.

"Okay, now you are inside, so talk." Kurt took a deep breath.

"Ugh," Blaine eyed the expensive white leather couch in the center of the living space. "I think you will need to sit down for this. Trust me."

Event Kurt was amazed at the amount of expletives that were running in his head right now. But nonetheless, he slowly limped toward the couch and gingerly sat down, careful not to put too much pressure on his butt. He figured, once Blaine finishes his big speech, he can finally be on his merry way, and that is well worth the pain.

Kurt's staggered movement did not escape Blaine's careful watch, and the billionaire frowned as he deduced the possible source of discomfort. Surveying Kurt's body, he could tell the faint bruise on Kurt's throat, the the obvious attempt at covering up his arms and wrists under heavy layers, and the swelling around the lips, which Kurt has carefully covered up with makeup.

"What happened?" Blaine moved directly before Kurt and attempted to grab Kurt's hand.

Startled by Blaine's lightening movement, Kurt quickly pulled his hand away from the man and shifted away. But not before Blaine got a good look at his marred skin. 

"I got bitten by a rabid dog, okay?" Kurt looked away, more annoyed than angry at Blaine's close gaze. 

Blaine could almost taste bile in his mouth. It was obvious that Kurt has been sexed up. From the bruises and the way Kurt was limping, it must have been rough, if not down right perverse. And given that Kurt did not report it to the police, it must have been an acquaintance.

"I am going to kill him." Blaine said as he gritted his teeth.

"Kill who?" Kurt was surprised that the man before him seemed to suddenly shift from a bouncing puppy to something much more menacing.

"Sebastian," Blaine spit out the name like it was vile. "Was it him? Did he hurt you?"

"What?" Kurt was now deeply regretting letting Blaine through the door. "No, Blaine, I don't know what you are talking about. And no, it's not Sebastian."

Blaine wanted to run outside this very moment and pound Sebastian into the floor. He knew he shouldn't have left Kurt alone with him. This is what happens when he turns Kurt away. He should have never let Kurt leave the Anderson manner, he should have protected Kurt. The thought of another man's hand on Kurt's flawless skin, marring him, penetrating him... Blaine was practically foaming at the mouth just thinking about it. Kurt was his, his treasure, and he should have stashed him away sheltered and safe inside his castle. 

Kurt studied Blaine and secretly admitted to himself... sure, he is still angry at Blaine for being a coward and refusing to be seen with him at the Mayor's Gala, and he is definitely still annoyed at this random visit in the most inopportune time. But, but.... Kurt couldn't help but feel genuinely touched by Blaine's obvious concern for his well being. Even if Kurt can't make any coherent thoughts out of Blaine's chaotic mutters as the man cursed Sebastian Smyth to the seventh depth of hell while vowing to avenge Kurt's honor, Kurt couldn't help but let a sly smile creep up at the corner of his mouth. 

Kurt Hummel is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But sometimes, just once in a while, it feels pretty good to be defended, protected.

If he could only ask Blaine to curse the real culprit. 

Batman.

Kurt's entire body tensed at the thought of that arrogant and despicable bastard, the man who thoroughly ravished him last night with impunity, the man who fucked him so hard he had to roll himself out of bed this morning. 

Revenge is a dish best served cold, Kurt tells himself, choosing to ignore the slight hard-on he was getting from the sheer intensity of the recall. 

Knowing what he knows about the Joker's plans, Batman will get what he deserves soon enough. Sure, Kurt isn't afraid to admit that, yes, he may have stealthily taken some pleasure in being compromised by Batman's sadism last night. He may even give Batman a moment of silence when the time comes for Batman's demise. But no one, not even Batman, stands between Catwoman and his jewels.

"Kurt," a light touch on his cheek brought Kurt back to his moment with Blaine. "Kurt, are you alright? Should I get you some water?"

"No, I'm fine," Kurt gave Blaine a generous smile. "Really. I'll be okay. And please, no more about Sebastian, okay? I'm fine, really!"

The furrowing of Blaine's dark brows indicated that he was doubtful, but Blaine nodded to appease the object of his affection.

"Kurt," Blaine stood straight before Kurt, and slowly began the speech that he had prepped on his way over. Actually, Blaine realized, it's the speech that he had always dreamed of giving. The one that would truly redeem him.

Seeing that he has Kurt's full attention, Blaine timidly took a step forward, and continued.

"Kurt, you know that for many of us, for almost everyone, actually, we go through our lives wearing these masks..." Blaine spoke slowly and carefully. "I am not saying that these masks are a complete deviation from who we are, truly inside, you know. But it's just that, for some people, who we are truly inside is not something that can be easily understood by others, or be seen in the light. So we put on these masks, not just to hide who we are, but just to make things easier, you know.."

"Okay...." Kurt responded, not sure what Blaine was trying to tell him.

"And who we are truly inside... Sometimes that is a burden, too. It's like I want this beast to be free. I want to run on top of rooftops and just shout it out to everybody, that this is who I am, what I am, and that I don't give a shit about anything or anyone, that I want things to be the way I want them to be, and do whatever it is that I feel like doing," Blaine shook his head. "But if I do that, what would I be but a reckless bundle of instincts and desires? Without discipline and control, without my masks, I would lose all efficacy in this world."

Blaine took Kurt's hand, and lightly ran his rough fingers along its elegant curves. "And the true me, Kurt... it's done some pretty terrible things. Things that I am not proud of. Things that I can forget only when I am wearing my mask."

"Blaine," Kurt turned his palm to grasp Blaine's hand. "It's not all or nothing, you know. It's a delicate dance, but you can come to terms with yourself, with or without the mask. Trust me, I know."

"I knew you'd understand," Blaine nodded. "This is why I just had to come talk to you. I couldn't wait a moment longer. I want you to know who I really am, deep down inside. I want you to see everything, because I truly believe. I believe you are the only one that can reconcile me."

Blaine knelt down before Kurt, still holding his hand.

"Kurt, I'm... I'm..."

Blaine stuttered.

"It's okay, Blaine," Kurt gave him an encouraging smile. "I already know what you are. Admitting it is always the hardest, but you can do it. It's okay, just say it. 'I'm gay'."

Blaine was totally caught off guard. 

Blaine Anderson has always prided himself on being one step ahead, to know exactly what people around him, enemies or none, are thinking and expecting. But never in a million years would he have predicted his moment of truth, the grand reveal that he has secretly envisioned in his mind ever since he became Batman, would be so blatantly missed by the one person whose thoughts he holds most dear. But com'on, a coming out speech?? 

"What......"

Blaine's attempt to explain was hushed by a dismissive wave of Kurt's delicate hand. Blaine noticed the darkened bruise marks circling the wrist and had to restrain himself from running out to beat the next guy he sees into a pulp.

"Blaine, you don't need to explain," Kurt's annoyance was slowly turning into sincerity now that he finally figured out what the drama was all about. It still is not the best of times, but the least he could do was give Blaine his support.

"I know how difficult it is to muster the courage to come out of the closet," Kurt continued. "When I was a sophomore in high school, I went out of my way to convince my dad and my friends that I was straight. I even played football, dated a cheerleader, and wore flannel! Me, in flannel! But I just couldn't deny who I truly am. And believe me, after I admitted that I was gay, life got even harder. But I never regretted it."

"So trust me, you are going to be okay, Blaine," Kurt reached out a gave Blaine a light hug. "I'm proud of you."

"No.... Kurt," Blaine wanted to rectify the situation, to tell Kurt that no, he's not coming out as gay, he was trying to come out as Batman. 

But damn, the warmth of Kurt's body just felt so good.....

Blaine instinctively tightened his arms around Kurt, drawing the young man closer. 

Maybe it's best to leave the Batman talk to another time, Blaine thought. Obviously there were problems with either his speech or the delivery, which he will need to tweak once he is back in the sanctity of his Batcave. But nonetheless, he seemed to have gotten the outcome he desired. Kurt is in his arms, they are connecting, and Blaine Anderson is not going to miss another opportunity with Kurt Hummel. 

"Kurt, so does this mean," Blaine gently extricated himself from the embrace and looked into Kurt's eyes. "Does this mean that you will give me another chance? I am so sorry for what happened between us. But now that we've had this heart-to-heart, will you forgive me and let me make it up to you?"

"I... I don't know..." 

Kurt suddenly felt very shy from Blaine's declaration. Ever since he has met the real Blaine Anderson, the person he found to be a stark contrast against his portrails in the tabloids, Kurt admits that he has not been able to push him out of his mind. But it just felt a bit awkward, with him confessing his heart out while Kurt could feel a dull ache in his ass, the rough marks of another man still marring his body.

"It - It's okay, Kurt," sensing Kurt's reluctance, Blaine tried to hide his disappointment as much as he could. "I know what I did must have really hurt you..."

"No," Kurt interrupted, almost a bit startled by his involuntary need to correct Blaine. "It's not that, Blaine. I think I can forgive you. I just... I just need more time."

"Of course!" Blaine felt like someone finally threw him a lifeline. "Some time. That's totally understandable. You should take as much time as you need."

But after a slight pause, Blaine added. "But will you promise me, that while I'm waiting, you promise to take care of yourself? I know you don't want me asking questions. But please, if Sebastian, I mean, if anyone tries to hurt you, or do anything you don't like. You will let me help you?"

"I promise I will be more careful from now on," Kurt smiled. "And Blaine, thank you. I just need some time... to sort things out. Everything is kind of messed up right now, for me."

"Same here," Blaine chuckled. "But I have faith in you. In us."

Blaine scooted forward and leaned in to press his lips against Kurt's, moving ever so slowly to detect any potential rejection. His heart started beating wildly when he saw Kurt held his own ground and lowered his eyes to sneak a glance at Blaine's lips, as if to accept the kiss.

Then finally, their lips met. And both tried to savoir the chaste but sensual connection, committing the velvet softness of the touch to memory.

* * *

After Blaine left the loft, Kurt Hummel remained still on his couch for a long time, just thinking. Then slowly, he got up and walked over to his nightstand, where he pulled open a small secret compartment hidden behind the drawers. 

Kurt reached in and took out the item that he has stashed away, the one prize he tried, but couldn't force himself to sell. 

A large emerald, its green color like those of his eyes, lay in his palm. The Anderson Emerald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read or kudo'ed this fic!! It was fun to write and I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
